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Her mother's windchimes whistled as the withered old woman stepped out of her hut. Morrigan watched from a distance, the shape of a lean black cat among the shadows. Flemeth carefully tended to the small garden of herbs and plants by their door. The wind ran its long, spindly fingers through her hair. Rustled her dress as it flapped against her ankles. And Flemeth hummed a soft song. It was no lullaby. Morrigan doubted her mother even knew one. No, Flemeth's song was soft but foreboding, the tune chilling. It was eerily gentle in the unusually quiet Wilds. As if the whole of the forest waited with one great baited breath for what could come next. Birds caws fell quiet under the serenade. The bugs ceased their chirping. Squirrels quit fidgeting. Even Morrigan halted, transfixed where she hid by the windchimes' ring and Flemeth singing.
Darkspawn burst from the dirt like a sudden blooming flower. In the same breath, Flemeth's figure was alight with magic. The energy of her mana shot forward like taloned fingers, sinking deeply into the 'spawn.
Morrigan leaped to her mother, shifting to a human in one purple flash. She was at her mother's back on guard in a moment. Back to back with ten darkspawn surrounding the women and the wind howling in their ears. Morrigan unleashed a wave of electricity, hair coming undone and monsters roaring. Her dark locks whipped wildly as she flayed the creatures with her magic.
Flemeth's magic pulled at the creatures until they ripped. Guts and blood red as betrayal spilled. Her power is well-formed and vicious. Raw energy in a carefully articulated pattern boils under the skin until the target drops dead.
Darkspawn drop in quick succession, dispatched so easily under the power of Flemeth. Morrigan beats her last one down with her staff. When she rises it is under the analyzing glare of her mother. She stands a little straighter and tries to hide how winded her battle has made her. Behind Flemeth are the bodies of seven darkspawn, behind Morrigan are three. The daughter braces for the mockery to come.
Instead Flemeth remains silent, regarding her daughter with a grim stare.
"Morrigan," she says at last, "Take care of these bodies, then meet me inside."
Flemeth slips past her into their hut. Morrigan, confused and slightly annoyed, does as she is told with mild grumbling.
The severity of the situation falls to her shoulders as she steps into their quaint living room. The fireplace puffs with warmth from flames that paint the room orange. Flemeth sits in her favorite chair, a withered thing that sinks when she sits. Half her face is cast in shadow. The other reflects the smoldering flames as light dances across her cheek.
Morrigan sits on the end of the couch, regarding her mother who has yet to look at her. The tense silence that usually follows the two fills their space. Morrigan's stance shifts. She is guarded and distrusting now in her crossed arms and squinted stare.
"You need not be so wary," Flemeth says, then stops. "On second thought, perhaps wariness is the wiser here." And she laughs her laugh, though the note is stressed.
Morrigan is no less put off. Flemeth stops laughing and - finally - looks at her daughter seriously.
"Speak your question, child," she instructs.
"Why were these darkspawn here?" Morrigan asks. Flemeth hums.
"I summoned them. It was not hard. They have already begun to crawl from their hiding holes."
"Why?" And Morrigan's voice betrays her anger.
"To test you, child!" Flemeth asserted. "There are dark days on the horizon. It is my duty as your mother to see you prepared. Prepared for the darkness. Prepared for what you must do. For the Blight," and the feeling in Flemeth's tone scared Morrigan.
"Mother, what are you saying?" Morrigan's tone stayed cool, but her wide yellow eyes proved her feelings.
"I have a job for you," Flemeth said. A statement that seemed abrupt and purposeful topic-shifting, but Morrigan knew better. She leaned in her seat towards her mother, silently begging her to go on.
"I have lived through many Blights, child, you know this. In these Blights there is only one golden opportunity to acquire what I need. I have never had the ability to be successful - but now- with you - I just might have a chance.
"In the dark times before us we will need power. I have in my possession a dark ritual to achieve so. Morrigan, this is where I need you."
Morrigan's expression shifted. She was wary again with her eyebrows pinched, mouth frowning, eyes squinting. But her posture stayed open.
"You will find a Grey Warden. You will become pregnant by this Warden during the ritual I give you. When the Archdemon is slain the soul of the Old God that dwells within it would have sought out the nearest tainted soul to host it once more. If it were to find a Warden, however, both the Warden and God would perish. But the ritual's child in your belly would not. The Old God will seek the babe like a moth to flame. It will not be able to resist. Through this, we will have the power we require for the coming eras," Flemeth finished.
Morrigan sat on the edge of the couch, mouth agape. She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, trying to find words. When she couldn't she shut her mouth tight and set her jaw, reeling back with an angry glare.
"This," she started, seething. "This is the purpose you give to me? Be had and filled in a dark ritual and- and to become a mother, of all things!"
"What's so wrong with being a mother?" Flemeth asked with an offended pout.
"That I do not know how to be one!" Morrigan shouted.
"I do. Give the babe to me and I-"
"No, no. If it is mine to birth it is mine to raise."
"There, you're sounding like a mother already."
Morrigan gave out an angry sigh.
"Is this the only reason I live? That you had me? Am I nothing more to you than a creature of convenience for you? Gods! Is that what this child will be for me?" Morrigan rose from her place and paced furiously on the shabby floor.
"Think not of the babe; think of survival! We do what we must, just as I taught you," Flemeth said from her chair.
Morrigan's pace slowed to a stop. She stared with all the intense emotion of her yellow eyes into her mother's. She met the gaze of a woman wizened and more stubborn in her will than a mountain. A woman who would do what it takes to survive.
They shared a deep exchange in this stare. When Flemeth's expression softened Morrigan melted. She sank into the sofa with a bitter acceptance.
"That's it, child," Flemeth crooned. "That's it."